Voices from the Past
by Gumi Reloaded
Summary: After 10 years separation, Hiko receives a garbled voice mail from a certain baka deshi. In this war, even the truth may be too much to handle.


Date: Tuesday, February 7, 2060  
Time: Evening  
Place: Hiko's apartment  
Characters: Hiko, Kenshin's cell

**Hiko**  
Hiko listened to Kenshin's message again, trying to make out the last part. Something about birth and dying. Typical idiot-speak, he was fairly certain, and most likely completely unhelpful. He never would have thought it would be this easy. Leave it to that idiot to be such a complete idiot. Well, at least he had a number, now. Idiot.

He hadn't even had his phone handy Sunday night, opting to leave it up in the apartment while he threw downstairs. Of course it was terrible business to be unavailable, but Hiko didn't care. He had wanted to work on some new pieces and he certainly wasn't going to be bothered by people demanding things. So the phone had been abandoned. Good thing, too. One look at the call log, and Hiko would have been reaching through cell phone towers, just to get his hands around his baka deshi's neck. The number of times he'd called was absurd. If it hadn't been for that message, half of which was nearly incomprehensible, he would have thought some drug-addled fool was having a bit of fun. Or pocket-dialing. Repeatedly.

"Kenshin." Quietly said, but the name sent a stab through Hiko. His idiot. A number didn't offer much, and the voice on the message didn't exactly fill Hiko with hope. The fact that he'd called at all sent off warning bells somewhere in the back of the man's mind. He never would have made contact if something hadn't been wrong. Hiko just wasn't sure what. He'd heard about an awful lot of activity in the underground lately, particularly dealing with some sort of ghostly vigilante. He had no real way of knowing if that brat was even in the city. But if he was, it wouldn't surprise Hiko in the least if his idiot was going all righteous justice on perceived threats.

He tapped the screen of his phone, and scrolled back through the call log. There was only one way to find out what was going on. He tapped the green phone icon next to the number Kenshin had called from and waited. The call connected, and he listened as it began to ring.

**Kenshin**

Kenshin rubbed his hands together and blew on them to keep them warm. The temperature had dropped since the few hours when he'd left Megumi- and he'd left his jacket with that other woman in the diner. He wondered how she was. He wondered _who_ she was, for that matter, but he didn't expect to find out. He sighed and shifted his weight on the concrete stoop.

There was Megumi, too. Should he have left her? They thought she was dead. She had said so herself. So maybe it was for the best. He obviously couldn't protect her. He remembered the blast, the sight of her face, the screams that tore through her ravaged body as it viciously fought for life. He closed his eyes. Stupid. He'd been stupid. Taking that tablet. What the hell had he been thinking? Even...even if she had never come, the police would have come after him, wanted to kill him and one of them would have to die.

(Or would they? Are you not strong enough to not kill anymore? Where are your precious ideals now? _A hitokiri is a hitokiri until the day he dies_)

Kenshin looked at the house across the street. A small knot of women were crying. A mother, perhaps. Two sisters, or maybe a sister and a wife. Two men, one a brother or close friend, sitting on the edge of the couch. A father wiping his eyes. All for Fujimori. Fujimori Umagoe. He repeated the name in his head over and over. The first house he had found (gut sickeningly easily). He had so much pleasure in the kill. He had been out of his mind in METAL, if not then, then soon. They would only suffer. Or would they have? Could he have convinced him? And even if he couldn't, was it better that he die now in some raid that should have gone well? Was their hurt really worth it?

Kenshin could have let himself die. He could have and no one would know...until the coroners dragged his body in. Until the government found out. Got their hands on HIMURA. Maybe even fixed him like Megumi. He shuddered. Wiped his mind. An empty doll. He had seen some of those. The last resort. The final measure. He couldn't allow his strength to fall into their hands but what should he do?

The father looked across the street and seemed to be squinting at Kenshin. Or perhaps not. It was difficult to tell but there was no fear that he could feel. The curtains rolled closed, blocking their agony. Kenshin stood and moved across the street to slip a card into their mailbox. An apology. A foolish little _Sorry for your loss_. It was paltry. Stupid. That a piece of cardboard would make any difference. Would give Umagoe back to his family.

Kenshin forced himself to walk again, the wind cutting through his hoody. Maybe he should leave the city. And leave it to the AMP heads that not even the police could fight without nearly killing themselves in the process. Maybe he should not kill them. But anyone could use a gun. Even if he crippled them- and even if they were sent to jail they could make more contacts inside that would make it worse. For every one who could change their lives, an equal number could become worse. More innocents would die. By his hand. By someone else's.

Damnit. He didn't know what to do!

A phone rang, a faint plaintive sound. _Salamander_ he thought with a weary resignation. His mother. Sister. Wife for all he knew. Child. He pulled the grey phone out and was surprised to find it silent. His own phone then. Megumi? No. She didn't have a phone, did she? He dug the magenta phone out and a shock gripped the back of his neck.

_Shishou_

A wave of something swept over him, making him feel weak. He sat on the edge of the sidewalk and stared at the number. Shishou. How had he even gotten this number? It took a moment for Kenshin to remember. The other night. Listening to his voice. Calling him endlessly. Why had he done that? And why was Shishou calling now? Did he know? Had he seen the news? Had he put it together? Was he calling to berate him? To call him a fool and an idiot? To disown him for being the same? Kenshin wrapped an arm around his stomach. He would deserve it. He would deserve that and more. For everything he'd done. For everything he'd been stupid enough to do.

He should answer it.

Shishou would give up. (_No he won't_)

He deserved it. All of it. No matter how harsh. No matter how cutting. He deserved it. Trying to keep his hand from shaking, Kenshin flipped open the cell and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello." He had meant to sound normal. Direct. But his voice was soft. Shishou would know. Shishou always knew. _I'm sorry._

**Hiko**

_"Hello."_

It was him. His idiot. And that same soft voice when he thought he knew what was coming. Hiko closed his eyes briefly, thankful just to hear his voice. He was alive. That was good. His hand tightened on the phone, and he opened his eyes.

"Kenshin." If there was any relief in that one word, Hiko would deny it to his dying day. He stopped there. What else was there to say? Hiko hadn't planned out the conversation. That Kenshin even answered the phone was a surprise.

He remembered a grubby-handed little kid handing him a mangled half-sandwich. It was a time when it was more important that Kenshin have something to eat, but stubborn idiot that he was, the kid had gone and torn his sandwich in two for the both of them. Scraped knees. Cereal in front of the TV, when they had one. Driving in comfortable silence as the world slipped by dusty windows. Berating him for whatever new stupid thing he'd done.

The images flashed so quickly, Hiko's heart clenched. Eight years and no word. And the first time his idiot makes contact is with repeated phone calls and a cryptic message that probably wasn't even intentional. How typical.

"Do you know how many times you called me the other night? Eleven! Eleven times, and then that crazy message. I didn't know if you were dying or what! Since you answered the phone, I know you survived. Congratulations. What happened?" What did you do? Why did you feel the need for contact after all this time?

**Kenshin**

Kenshin felt like he was nine-years-old again and Shishou was yelling at him for jumping across the roofs, for accidentally getting his head stuck in a stairway banister, for killing that corrupt mayor. For getting involved in that stupid, stupid war. He pulled at one of the fraying strings of his hoody, running his thumb over the soft split fibers. He was going to have to say something even as his stomach tightened, but the truth- it all seemed too much to say.

(Coward. You know what he'll do. Turn you away. _I won't teach you anything with that look in your eyes_.) What did his eyes look like now? He should tell the truth. I've disappointed you, Shishou. I'm a murderer, Shishou. I don't know who I am, Shishou. And that was somehow the worst. He closed his eyes tightly, resting his head on forehead on his knees. No. He couldn't. Even if he was a coward he just-

So...so make an excuse. Not tell the whole truth, just enough of it.

"I...I was just sick, that's all." That wasn't any good. Too tired. To hidden. Even he could feel it. Shishou definitely could. The polite form, then.

He couldn't even pull his mouth into a smile.

"I don't even remember what I said. I'm sorry for bothering you so much." For not succeeding. For not even knowing what to succeed at. He hoped Shishou just grumbled at him and hung up. He hoped Shishou would cut right to the heart and explain to Kenshin just how stupid he was (how diseased. You can't hide the darkness inside of you).

"How are you?" he asked, hoping to at least distract Shishou for a little while until he could figure out what it was he really wanted.

**Hiko**

"Sick," Hiko echoed quietly. "Right." Keshin was still a terrible liar. Sick? Not likely, if that boy's constitution was anything like it had been growing up. He had no doubt something was wrong with his idiot, and illness may have been a part of it. But Hiko was fairly certain that the illness was a result, not a cause. What had been the cause, he could only guess. Injury. Drugs. Kenshin had many reasons to get "sick."

Hiko listened as the tired voice on the other end of the line continued. Anger spiked with the obvious and rather pitiful attempt to divert the conversation. This wasn't about him. Not right now. Right now, Hiko wanted to ease the tension running across his shoulders, clenching his gut.

"Mm. You didn't bother me. The phone was upstairs." Hiko's tone was wry, and implied what might have happened if his cell had been within earshot.

Unconsciously, he rubbed at his temple with his free hand, and it brought a measure of calm. "What's going on, baka deshi?" He paused, then added, "And don't hand me any crap about being sorry or getting sick. You said you screwed up." His voice grew sharp with edged concern and no small amount of irritation at having to repeat himself. "What happened? Where are you?"

He stood abruptly, and paced to the window, unable to sit still any longer.

**Kenshin**

Kenshin flinched. He knew. Of course he knew. What happened. Where are you? _What did you do_? What didn't he do?

(Are you going to be a coward or are you going to tell him?)

No. He couldn't. He _couldn't_. Shishou. Shishou would-

(And don't you think you deserve whatever you have coming? This is the life you chose. These are the consequences)

He was the only family-

(_You don't have family_)

_A hitokiri is a hitokiri until the day he dies._

_I don't want the battousai; I want the wanderer..._

Megumi's body blasted against the wall, blood splashing against the white.

_How long can you hold onto your pathetic ideals?_

_**[My brother is dead, you know]**_

_I won't train you with eyes like that_

What did you do?  
_You made the blood rain fall. You killed my sister!_

(You leave me no other choice.)

A step behind him. Zori on gravel. In a second, _Kitetsu_ was unsheathed and swinging through the empty space. No one was there. He was alone. He panted softly.

"A hitokiri," he told Shishou, croaky voiced, staring at _Kitetsu's_ knicked blade in the lamp light. "Is a hitokiri." His voice cracked. "Someone died..." and she had. Even if she'd come back to life. "...because I was an idiot. Shishou...someone like me...shouldn't have survived."

**Hiko**

The silence lasted long enough that if Hiko hadn't known better, he'd have thought the line had gone dead. But this was Kenshin, and it wasn't the first time Hiko had waited for him to gather his words. So he stared out the window into the deepening night and waited out the pause, not even realizing he was holding his breath.

_"A hitokiri…Is a hitokiri."_

Hiko closed his eyes and reached for the window frame to steady himself.

_"Someone died…because I was an idiot."_

It wasn't enough to go on. Had he…What? Killed someone? Slipped up? Made a mistake and someone got caught in the crossfire? The possibilities were endless, and Hiko's mind was going into overdrive.

_Shishou…someone like me…shouldn't have survived."_

His hand tightened on the frame as he released the breath he'd been holding and inhaled, only to let all the air whoosh out in a long sigh. It had been so long since he'd heard that name. But what came after made his heart clench. They'd been through that already, for all the good it seemed to do. How many times had he'd had a trembling child crawl into his bed after a nightmare? _Baka deshi, it's not your fault. It was never your fault. Now. Go to sleep…_ A heavy hand on a small back, until it rose and fell with the deep, even breath of slumber.

Opening his eyes, Hiko stared unseeingly out the window a long moment. Of course he would survive. The drug, it ensured survival. Even when one might fervently wish it didn't. So someone had died. And of course the idiot was blaming himself. He always blamed himself.

"Yes, you should." Sharp as a whip-crack. "That's what you do, you idiot. You survive. I don't know what-all you've gotten into, but-"

He stopped abruptly. There wasn't enough to go on. What could he say without details? All he had was his idiot's voice, and that…well. It didn't sound good. It dawned on him that he hadn't needed to dial long-distance, so Kenshin was likely closer than he could have imagined. And Hiko had prided himself on his awareness. Pieces began to fall together, too late. The vigilante. That idiot was right here in the city.

"Kenshin, where are you?"

**Kenshin**

Shishou's voice made him twitch, but not quite flinch, because what he said didn't make any sense. That's what he did do, but it didn't make it right. It didn't make it right that the soft people were always the ones who died. (And you can't protect them this time) He shuddered and blinked as a light sleet began to fall, plinking off _Kitetsu's_ blade, shining and sliding to the ground.

_Kenshin, where are you?_ Shishou said, and Kenshin blinked at such a normal question. Responding without thinking.

"New Meiji." And why did he say that? And why have the sword out where others could see? He shook his head and flicked the ice off the blade before sheathing it, hiding it once more in its bag.

"There are a lot of drugs here, Shishou," he said, tired as he picked up his messenger bag and started through the slush. Realized he didn't even know where he was going but kept on. "Solider drugs. And too many innocent people are getting hurt. I'm...trying to stop that." And failing. He was starting to think it's a war he couldn't win.

**Hiko**

_"New Meiji."_

Son of a- He _was_ right here in town. "How long?" Hiko had arrived in the city three years ago. It took some time to get settled, but he'd been in his current space for nearly two years now. How long had they been walking past each other, without realizing?

Hiko found himself looking hard out the window, looking past his own reflection in the glass, out into the street below. As if he could see his idiot out in the city from his second-story window. Ridiculous. He turned and made his way back to the chair in the living room.

He sat heavily as Kenshin continued. He sounded so tired. Exhausted. Hiko let out a long sigh, letting his weight pull him back in his chair, as though Kenshin's exhaustion had seeped through the phone into him. Maybe it had. Idiot. Baka deshi. Fool. Did he really think he could stop what had started so long ago? Those drugs had too much of a foothold. Kenshin knew the difficulties of breaking the habit. Few people could manage it. Others, simply managed. Kenshin knew that, too. Intimately.

"Baka deshi." He stared across the room, thinking of the uphill battle his idiot had chosen for himself. "And how is that going for you? They're like cockroaches, Kenshin. You'll never kill them all."

That boy was always too willing take on battles by himself, to sacrifice himself. Hiko has always been convinced he had a death wish, somewhere buried in that strong will. It was such a paradox; a child who fought so hard to live, who tried so hard to die. Hiko reeled in the melodrama with a mental roll of his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew Kenshin wouldn't actively try to die, but on the other hand, his idiot wasn't exactly careful about his own safety, either. Hiko knew he valued others' lives far above his own. He had never been able to convince the child that he had worth, too.

Such a bloody life. Hiko had lived with the blood, the killing, and he'd gotten past it. Mostly. No more allegiances, no more ties. He had learned what he would do, and what he would not do. He hoped, that at the very least, his idiot was working on his own, however misguided his notions might be. "You're the vigilante." It wasn't a question. "You're working alone?" There was no other way to make certain, than to ask. If this was his idea, perhaps steps could be taken to prevent any more injury-induced phone calls.

**Kenshin**

"Five years." And what good had he done? Saved someone for a week. A month. Gave them a few more heartbeats before assholes or addicts turned or devoured them. The sleet was harder now, stinging, and he ducked under a tree, hearing the tiny pellets bounce off the branches like fingernails (or small bones).

Baka Deshi. How is that going for you? You can't kill them all. Kenshin flinched at Shishou's words. They cut into him one by one. It wasn't anything he hadn't told himself but when Shishou said them it set his teeth on edge. He knew. of course he knew. He knew everything. He understood everything. Why then did he not seem to _get_ it?

"What do you expect me to do, Shishou? Let people suffer? Let the police handle it? They can barely handle one without being injected and drugged up- an officer shot his partner in the _face_. He was so out of is mind that he couldn't even see. And meanwhile the strong and the drug syndicates can do whatever the hell they want. Do you just expect me to leave that, Shishou? To walk away? To not care about those who are suffering and dying right in front of me?"

**Hiko**

Five years. Hiko had lived in the city long enough to know what that meant. There was so much corruption here, everywhere; one man alone would never be able to wipe it out. The power, the drugs, the money, there was no way the government would give that up. And the syndicates fought just as hard, back to back with corrupt officials to keep it that way. How could Kenshin think he would be able to wipe it all out alone? Did he plan on murdering half the city? Because that's what he'd have to do to accomplish his goal.

Hiko rubbed at his temple again, then reached back and pulled the tie free from his hair in an attempt to ease headache that was beginning to throb sharply as the enormity of Kenshin's self-appointed task sank in. Arrogant? Or just that desperate to make things right?

Kenshin continued, with his questions no one could answer. He rattled them off, the questions, the police officer, and Hiko's frustration rose with each word. There were times when he talked and talked but never _listened_. "Baka deshi! I didn't ask you for an explanation. I asked if you were working alone. Although, given your explanation, I'm guessing you are. At least you're smart enough to think for yourself." And not throw your lot in with some faction with ulterior motives. "Even if what you're trying to do is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

He took a breath, closed his eyes, and opened them again, grasping for a sense of calm. "Look. What you're doing is not wrong. It's not wrong to care. However. Trying to clean up a corrupt city by yourself is ridiculous. You'll lose who you are."

**Kenshin**

Kenshin gritted his teeth as Shishou snapped at him. It wasn't stupid. Why did he always think it was stupid? It was foolish, maybe, but it was right. It was _right_ and he was the only one who could do it. Why couldn't the- why couldn't he just understand that? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn. He even admitted that it wasn't wrong but then...

He would lose himself. Kenshin closed his eyes. The ultimate truth. He would lose himself in this war. This never-ending war. The constant battle. (The pools of blood) But on the other hand if he could save one life. Just one. (and you can't even do that right. And not even you can save them forever. There will always be someone else with a gun) He rubbed his temple and then dropped his hand.

He would lose himself.

But something Shishou didn't know. Or didn't want to believe. He had no self to begin with. He was an assassin. A tool. Living on nothing but a web of lies. There was nothing in him worth preserving.

"Then so be it," Kenshin said. "Take care, Shishou." And he ended the call and kept pressing the end button until the phone shut off completely. He stared at the black screen. The sleet hissing around him. It was a disappointment, he knew. He was a disappointment. But Shishou would survive like he always did and would find peace. He had done his good service and now deserved a rest.

Kenshin stepped from the scant shelter of the tree and saw New Meiji rising up in front of him. Endless. Endless violence. Endless hate. Endless death. But he was the hitokiri battousai. And this was what he was made for.

**Hiko**

The phone went dead in Hiko's hand, underscoring the finality of Kenshin's words. So that was it. He was going to do as he pleased, without accepting help, without support, without anyone to check his reckless behavior. So be it. That damned, selfish fool. He slowly dropped the phone from his ear and stared at the red icon indicating an ended call. After a few seconds, the screen went black.

"Shit!" The phone creaked in his grip, and Hiko made a conscious effort to relax his hand. He touched the screen, found the call log, and redialed the number. Which went straight to voicemail. Unsurprised, Hiko ended the call. When Kenshin did something, he did it thoroughly.

Unable to sit still any longer, he got up and paced across the apartment to the kitchen, depositing the phone on the counter before getting the sake from the cabinet underneath. He poured a measure into a small cup and knocked it back, barely tasting it. Usually, he enjoyed savoring the flavor, but not right now. He just wanted to settle his roiling emotions, even though he knew this method would do little good.

Anger burned through him. At Kenshin for being an idiot, for risking himself for a task entirely too overwhelming for one person. At himself, for being unable to stop it. He needed to think, to plan how to figure this out. How to get back in touch with Kenshin, to at least keep tabs on what he was up to. As much as Hiko wanted to begin hunting the streets for him, what then? Kidnap him? Ground him? Hiko snorted. Even if he'd always be a scrawny red-haired boy in Hiko's mind, Kenshin was a grown man, and ultimately, there wasn't a thing he could do. There wasn't anything he could do but be there.

He took up the sake jug and his cup and headed back into the living room, sitting heavily in the chair. Damnit. What now?


End file.
